Decoy Mistress
by cupcakefrenzy123
Summary: The problem with living a lie is knowing that there's always the risk that everything will become all too real...The trick is knowing when to back-out before that happens. Both thought they were masters at this game, safe from such complications. Unfortunately the other problem with living a lie is that sometimes, the person most fooled is the liar. [Bastard Arya/Prince Gendry]
1. Prologue

**[A/N: I just really wanted to write a story where Arya is the bastard (rather than Jon) and Gendry is the legit heir…Please, tell me what you think and if you're interested in seeing more. Thanks~]**

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**_Prologue: Unconventional Prerequisites  
_**

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_[King's Landing...A Fortnight Ago]_

Why everyone was worried about the idea of guy's getting into a fight was beyond Arya's understanding. When testosterone clashed, either the components got their swings in and cooled off or they were pulled apart and dragged away.

Meanwhile, when two girls fought there was really only one thing to do. Clear the general space they were in and let them rip each other apart. There being an unspoken rule that, if interrupted, the two women would turn on the foolish intruder before continuing on one another.

Only insanity or suicidal thoughts would cause someone to willingly step in with intent of breaking a cat-fight apart.

Unfortunately, that such things were a part of Arya's job description. Hired to aid in tavern security, she was couldn't allow patrons to destroy one another. Bad for business and all that. Why, as the smallest of the employees, she always seemed to be the one to wind up with these kinds of situations was beyond her understanding.

If asked, her co-workers would state that it was because she could handle herself better than any man, who would flinch at the idea of possibly harming a woman. She was shallow enough to say that the idea did flatter her ego and not to gripe about the bruises and sore muscles she received from such acts.

Grabbing a handful of blonde coiled hair and the base of a red braid, Arya slammed the two girls' heads together and pulled a metal canister off her belt, a special blend of spices created to enflame the eyes mingled inside-a handy tidbit she gained during her travels, if they decided to go another round.

Forget that she had been instructed by it's creator that this wasn't supposed to be used in closed-in places. Not that most people knew that; her reputation of its use was enough to cool most heated heads at the sight of the canister in her. People seemed to be not so fond of the idea of losing their eye sight.

Go figure.

"I don't care who slept with whose lover." She calmly stated over the girls' protests and insults as they rubbed at their sore heads. Both were ridiculously tall and Arya had to get on her tip-toes to assault them. "Honestly, you should be bringing all this upon him than giving him a show of ripping into each other. Way to spike his ego, which has to be dangerously inflated already. Now, get the seven hell out before I blind you both and leave you to flounder your two-timed asses home." She shoved the blonde, a flower-seller from a few blocks up from Fleabottom, towards the front exit and the redhead, a dock wrench, towards the back. "Go. Now."

The two eyed Arya, and her infamous weapon, before turning at the same time and did as they were told. That was how many people acted when faced with her wrath. Arya may be small, slight, and barely twenty…but the spark in her eyes were enough to tell anyone what was needed to be own.

She wasn't one to be trifled with.

"As for you." Without having to look, she pointed at the cause of the problem. Some pretty boy who had enjoyed the fact that two gorgeous women had been ready to murder one another for the 'honor' of being his one and only.

The thought was enough to make Arya want to gag.

Instead, she snapped her fingers at him like he was no higher than a canine. "Out."

Pointing at himself in clear disbelief, he got off his bench and came closer to better be heard over the band of traveling musicians hired to entertain the night crowd. "What did I do?"

"A lot. One, and the most important, being that you were the cause of a fight. Did nothing to try to stop it. As a side note, I find you disgusting and want you out of my sight before I throw a punch of my own."

"You can't do that."

Leaning in closer, Arya lowered her voice, "Try me. Small girl and a strapping young man like you…who do you think the city watch would believe if I yelled foul?"

The guy couldn't get out fast enough, she could almost imagine a trail of smoke in his wake as he went after the blonde. Hopefully, the knock Ayra gave to the woman's head woke up some of her sense and self-respect.

Probably not. If she was anything like Arya's half-sister, Sansa, the blonde would be in the man's arms within seconds. At least Sansa would have the last time Arya had seen her, well over two years before. When Arya had ran away…

_"__Stay out from underfoot…in fact, keep out of sight."_ Those had been the last words Lady Stark had said to her, before storming off to oversee the final preparation for the king's impending visit.

Stay out of sight.

Four words to perfectly sum up the first eighteen years of Arya's life.

Stay out of sight.

Who knew what unspeakable horrors would occur if the bastard daughter of Lord Eddard Stark was discovered.

She was living shame.

Another four words drilled into her mind.

Catelyn had been very fond of reminding her husband's illegitimate child of this every time they spoke. Such interactions were few and far between, the lady of Winterfell could go months without acknowledging the girl's existence, but every exchange was seared into Arya's mind.

"I must admit, that was an impressive display and it takes a considerable amount to gain my notice." The voice came from behind Arya, from far higher than her head.

"Mark me as flattered." Her voice came out dry and brittle as the autumn leaves outside. The words of her father's home were going to become prophetic truth. Winter was coming, hopefully not to stay. The miniscule room the tavern lent her for services was far from airtight. Turning to go back to her place at the back corner, close enough to the bar to look for signs of disturbance but also adjacent to the stairs to keep an eye out for other forms of wrong doing—mostly towards the female workers, making Arya their personal hero after her first month—she found her way barred by the speaker.

This wasn't her first time seeing him, the guy had come to the tavern several times during the last few weeks. It was hard miss him, seeing how much of a fuss the female clientele and staffers made whenever he stepped through the door.

Objectively, Arya could see why.

Tall with a powerful built, dressed in boiled leathers stretched over broad shoulders and enhanced the strong muscles created by some form of manual labor—if she was any judge, seeing that his hands were covered in callouses and soot stains. If that wasn't enough to gain interest, the mix of his black hair—worn shaggy—and eyes the most intense shade of blue she had ever seen would be.

Merely being addressed by him was enough for Arya to gain some withering glares from those around. It wouldn't surprise her if one of the more delusional women tried taking a swing at her. Gods knew that a man this attractive had to have a small harem of love objects.

"May I help you?" She made it known that this wasn't not a question made in sincerity.

"Just wondering what other tricks you have?"

This wasn't a foreign domain occurrence for her. Work around drunks at a tavern and some assumptions would be made. "I'm not a whore…and I don't do kink."

"I don't want a whore."

Tucking her hands into her belt, she rocked back onto the heel of her boots to better contemplate his face. "Then why are we having this discussion?"

"Because, what I do need is someone I can adore and fawn over for the next few weeks."

Blinking, the late hour and accumulation of smoke was starting to get to her, Arya waved a hand to try to clear away possible confusion. "You lost me."

"I need a mistress, in name only," he added when she was about to tell him where to shove his proposition. "One who can handle herself in a fight and think on her feet…possibly some spying on the side. From what I can tell, you would be perfect for such work."

"Thanks, but boiling in oil sounds more appealing than whatever game you're playing—"

"A dozen dragons a day."

"—And yet…I am always one to try change in order to broaden my horizons."


	2. Chapter 1

**[A/N: I know…it has been forever since I wrote the first part—and I am REALLY sorry about that. I just kept finding myself hating everything I wrote. Still not 100% on this chapter, but wanted to give your guys something. Hopefully you all aren't disappointed. Also—I love the Brienne/Jaime relationship in the books (their friendship) and felt the need to represent this…I figured that it's an A/U~ So I can do whatever I want. Bwhahahaha!]**

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**Chapter One: The 'Lady' Nan**

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_[King's Landing…Present]_

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Gendry didn't suffer from the grand desires for rule and power that his half-brother seemed to lust after. The only thing that seemed to arouse Joffrey was the thought of being able to behead a man without having to ask permission of anyone whenever he felt slighted or patronized.

Even in his station of second eldest, the first of the Lannister-mothered children, his piercing voice—no longer able to be blamed on puberty for the shrieking notes it took on when he was upset…so basically all the time—could be heard ringing off the palace walls over the actions of servants or courtiers or knights or horses in one way or another.

Sir Jaime, Gendry's step-uncle, seemed to be able to sum-up the matter the best after one particularly gruesome day. Joffrey had been seven at the time and was angry that one of the yearlings, not yet completely saddle broken, wouldn't allow him to ride it without bucking. If the Kingslayer hadn't stepped in, the animal would have been killed by one of the prince's bodyguards under orders.

_"__You're grown men. He's a child. Please use your common sense."_ Jaime chastised, blocking one of the knight's sword with his own. _"If he's angry at a horse, whip the horse for misbehaving. Not attempt to chop off its head. Not only is it far too severe, but you're not the Mountain…it would only make a gruesome mess that will instill nightmares. And then we'll be left with a wailing child for days to come. And woe be it for us if we ever find him on the throne…"_ The last part had been muttered under his breath as the knight returned to Gendry, nine at the time, and their training session with Jaime's close friend Lady Brienne.

Without his sister within sight, Gendry enjoyed his step-uncle's company. Even more so when Brienne was around to keep Jaime's more twisted sense of humor in check. Not that any amount of the masculine blonde's influence did the slightest bit of good when Cersei was manipulating her twin for her personal ends.

The queen wanted her children to rule, Gendry wasn't blind to this. Never thinking that she cared for him, despite how she may made a show of doting when he was younger. And he was certain that, if allowed on the throne unchecked, Joffrey would run their father's kingdom and people into flames.

Probably even worse than the mad king Robert Baratheon had rebelled against.

It was this knowledge that kept Gendry from screaming out his desire to abdicate during the dullest of council meetings or when he is forced to march about in ridiculously fancy and cumbersome clothing for all the court to watch like an animal in a cage.

And, worst of all, when the above two were combined with the conversation of his intended bride. Gendry always knew that he was to marry the daughter of his father's dearest friend, that didn't mean he had accepted this fate during any such time.

Yes, she was beautiful...and overwhelmingly dull.

And he was stuck with her for eternity the moment they say 'I do' before the Seven. A moment that was drawing dangerously near. Despite this father's assurance that Gendry didn't have to love her, that's why the seven gods of worship designed whores and comely serving girls…and the random noble woman, and would appreciate having such a beauty on his arm. Certain that the union would produce sons and heirs as noble in mind and appearance as their grandfathers.

It was cold comfort.

Especially when Gendry saw how much joy marriage to Cersei gave his father.

Though, for once, this was the last thing on his mind as he sat at the uncomfortable chair at his father's right hand. The impending arrival of Khaleesi Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, The Silver Lady of the Great Sea Grass, Mother of dragons and the breaker of shackled chains, Bride of Fire and Slayer of Lies, Queen of Meereen and what had once been Slaver's Bay…and so many other titles that Gendry became exhausted thinking of all that she had done in order to gain such.

"We should just kill the child. Send in one well-trained assassin to end her offensive reign." Petyr Baelish. Master of Coin, wore his usual smile that spoke of knowing far much more than those in his company. "A knife in the dark will save us needed coin and resources that all-out war will cost."

"You forget." Gendry resisted the urge to rub his aching eyes. A headache had long settled in. "Not only is she heavily guarded by people who nearly worship her, but every assassin or spy sent in to her ranks has fellen in love with her. Jorah Mormont long ceased contact with us, stopping the assassin attempts he knew my father was planning, and—from what a less reliable source has informed us—she has taken Daario Naharis as a lover."

"So, it will be war." It was hard to say if the idea filled Robert with a sense of excitement to relive his days of glory or apprehension of the disaster such action would cause. Knowing his mentality, Gendry would say that his father was suffering from a conflicting mixture of both.

"Father," Gendry had ceased using formal speech with the king when he was six, such courtly pretties weren't becoming of the close relationship. It was common knowledge that Robert loved and favored Gendry over all else. "She took over Slaver's Bay with three baby dragons and a band of sea-sick dothraki. Now she has eight thousand unsullied, who—as I said before—treat her as if she's a goddess in human flesh, and thousands of former slaves who would die for her without second thought. Not to mention that those baby dragons had had time to grow and mature. War with her would only end with Westeros being razed to the ground. Something neither party wants."

"Wise words." Tywin Lannister's words were approving, but there was the ever present condescending light in his eyes as he looked at the heir. Legacy was all that mattered to the Lion patriarch, and Gendry was a barrier for the ultimate prize. That didn't stop Lannister from playing the game of keeping favor. As Hand of the King—a position given to him when Ned Stark declined the offer years ago…not wanting to leave his son's side after a disastrous accident—Tywin didn't risk putting the realm in danger from constant desire to undermine the heir's opinions. "So, where assassination attempts and war would fail, what do you think would be the safer course of action?"

"I would hardly call it safe by any means, taking in the Dragon Queen's infamous temper, but I think it would be fair to assume that she is more tired of war and bloodshed then we are. Diplomacy is the only card we have to play."

"You're expecting me to welcome a Targaryen into my realm with open arms, all from fear of crossing swords with a child?"

Combing back black his hair, worn in a shaggier fashion that most of his station would consider…and yet there was a fashion trend on a rise in for the sons of high-born families, Gendry turned to face his father. Making the conversation have the appearance of being intimate. Rather than before a council. "While all we had to deal with during the twenty-five years since your reign began are the occasional attempts at uprisings from the disgruntled and oppressed—the largest of which only lasting a few months—she has been raging her personal crusade. Sold off as a child-bride to one of the greatest warriors of the eastern lands—the widowing of such left her with only a motley band of outcasts who she managed to protect and care for no matter what hardship befell them—and gracefully dealing with the constant attempts on her life, she has systematically destroyed any city that dared cross her. Don't under estimate her. Daenerys, even at her young age, has the battle knowledge of a seasoned general and is not to be trifled with. Trying to appease her might be the only way to survive this endeavor."

"So, you just want to hand your birth right to her. Waiting at her feet when her ships arrive?"

"No. Rather, I recommend we first show her that we're not the violent barbarians she assumes us to be. Treat her as an honored guest while subtly showing her our might, making it understood what her war—for if there is one it would be completely of her doing—would do to the people she believes to be hers. That is the one weakness I know her to have. She cares and loves. No amount of brilliance will be able to stop the populace from suffering. So we put them right in her face."

"The plan has merit." Varys nodded in head in respectful acknowledgement to the heir. "After all, his highness is a favorite amongst the people. It isn't uncommon for him to socialize with the common people. No matter how hard he tries to disguise himself." Of course the spider would know about Gendry's outings. "If he seems hold Daenerys in high regard, the people will do the same."

"And we don't have slaves to worry about falling at her feet." Little Finger commented nearly under his breath.

"And, if the worst is to befall, it would be easier to deal with her while she's confined within our walls rather at the center of her personal military base." Leave to Tywin to bring the talks back to practical murder. And that was the comment that gained Robert's approval.

Nodding in consent, Robert moved matters on. Clearly becoming bored and wanting to leave for more interesting matters. "And how are preparations going for security of your bride to be?"

The stark girl was coming south, with her father and other members of her household, for the final preparations for the wedding. Something planned long before they gained words of Daenerys' journey across the narrow sea. Plans of diplomacy aside, the prince's betrothed would be an ideal hostage.

Which was why Gendry was giving them something else to focus on.

For that, he had asked various sources on who would be the best female bodyguard, acting as if it was on behalf of his half-sister, and all had sent him to the same girl.

She introduced herself as Nymeria, but he doubted that was her true name. Not that it mattered. What he needed was a girl able to pretend to be his mistress, for the Dragon Mother to hone in on as a possible target—thinking her to be Gendry's sole object of adoration—and overlook the northern lady.

The only matter had been being able to portray her as the daughter of a lower house. Something he wasn't sure her rough edges could be smoothed down enough to manage. A fortnight ago, he had sent her off to go through 'Lady Training.' Something only the Tyrells, the family he had entrusted her with, and members of this council were aware of.

"I've been notified that she should be arriving sometime this evening."

"And you think that she'll be able to pass as one of us?"

Gendry gave Tywin a smile that didn't come near his eyes. "Well, maybe not on the same level as your daughter. But Wilias has ensured me, through our correspondence, that she will do better than originally anticipated."

"And her appearance?"

Leave it to his father to worry about the face and body rather than the mind and manner. "Pretty enough for it to be understandable why I would take her on as a lover, but not a startling beauty to draw unneeded attention and advances." Gendry partially lied, thinking back on the sharp grey eyes—touched with what seemed to be the slightest bit of lavender flakes—and fierce manner. He found her more than merely 'pretty enough' and yearned to see if she was as wild between the sheets as she was in a fight.

Not that the optioned seemed to be within the cards. Not only did she make it know that she would skew him for unwanted advances, but getting attached would be unwise for their current standing.

Yet, who knew what the months to follow would bring in that matter…

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Meeting over, Gendry stripped off his rich clothing and into the plain trousers and shirt style he favored. All the better to work in.

His original destination was the personal forge that his father had built for him on his eighteenth name day. After the palace blacksmiths and weapons masters deemed him masterfully competent.

He always loved working with the smiths because, in their domain, his position had no importance. Like all children there, if he was going to get underfoot…he was going to be put to work. He had been pumping the bellows since he was tall enough to reach them.

And, while he enjoyed keeping company with the workers, it was nice that he now had a space for himself to work in without interruption or his fellows putting in their personal thoughts on a project. A destination he didn't reach, being hailed the moment he stepped out of the main keep and into the courtyard beyond.

"Gendry!" Wilias' riding days were long over, dropping him to the annoyance of having to ride in a rickety carriage. He normally didn't travel from Highgarden and only did so now on Gendry's request.

Smiling, a far more genuine gesture than the one he gave Twin, Gendry walked over to clasp hands with the heir to the second wealthiest house in the realm. Not that that was the basis of their friendship, that had been forged in rivalry and a fist fight between a strong boy and a willowed youth not knowing who the other was. "Wilias, I wasn't expecting you till later this evening."

"Same. But weather was on our side, and I doubt that anyone would dare bother us with your lady present."

The thought made Gendry cringe. "Where is she?"

Leaning on his cane, a necessary for walking, Wilias did a mocking, partial bow towards the carriage's partially open door. "With your permission, your highness, it would be my pleasure to introduce you to the Lady Nymeria."

The door swung wide, admitting a young woman to step down the given steps. Dark hair, made orderly by a wide ribbon that added a simplistic charm of elegance, cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in loose curls and waves. Petite body dressed in the more risqué fashion preferred in the Highgarden houses—though the neckline was straight at her collarbone, the top bodice stopped at the bottom of her ribs with crisscrossing of ties cutting over the snowy skin that peaked out and attached to the slitted skirt.

If it wasn't for the defying spark in her twilight eyes, Gendry might not have recognized her.

Tilting her chin up, trying to bridge the significant gaps in their heights, the girl put a fist on a slender hip. "I heard you were concerned about whether I would do. What do you think now?"

Knowing that they were being watched by people who had to believe they to be lovers, Gendry bent down and boldly took possession of her lips. "You'll do just fine," he whispered against her mouth when he parted their kiss. An action that would seem like the whispering of sweet nothings to onlookers. "And don't you dare strike me for taking such measures with you."

He felt her wound up body, preparing to kick him for handling her in such a way, ease with the reminder that this was all a lie that they both had to sell. Instead of assaulting him, as she obviously wanted, Nymeria went up on her tip toes and returned the gesture. Eyes open the entire time so he also understood that this was nothing to her but a paycheck.


	3. Chapter 2

**[A/N: I know—I am a terrible poster. My only excuse is that I work three jobs at the moment. Time of is equal to time for sleep. I do apologize through and hope that you guys haven't given up on me and this story…]**

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**Chapter Two: Shared Space**

Loras Tyrell was known as the strongest swords man since Sir Jaime and second youngest to gain the rank in the King's Guard…and yet Arya was happily serving him his ass as they spared about the cleared-off room of her suite of rooms. Located adjacent to Gendry's. A wash the only thing separating their sleeping space.

Original purpose obviously intended for a mistress.

They weren't trying to be subtle with the role she was playing, and that had been the entire point. That and the fact of her having to be able to hold her own in any possible dangerous situation. The argument she had used her first day at Highgarden, when she wanted to have time sectioned off each day for 'practical' training.

Loras had scoffed at her, until—as a means to appease a spoiled child—he crossed blades with her. From that moment one, they became one another's sparring partners at the end of each day's lessons.

"How can a tavern wench be this good with a blade?" The younger Tyrell son panted as she forced him back towards the opening for the balcony. Deflecting her blade, he tried to take control of the situation. Crinkling his nose in disdain when she nimbly danced out of the way and began her assault once more.

Not even winded.

"First, I was far from a wench…and two: those women have handled nearly as many blades as you." Smirking to let him know that the double meaning was intended on all possible levels.

Loras and his long-standing affair with Renly Baratheon were Westros's worst kept secret. During her two weeks at the Tyrell family home, the king's bother had visited during one of them. Any possible doubts she could have had about the two friends were gone when she accidently walked in on the two in a compromising position of naked extents.

Laughing at his angry expression, Arya hopped onto the balcony's railing. Never at risk of tangling her legs in the flowing fabric of her gown. Jaqen H'gar would have never taken her as an apprentice all those years ago if she was the kind of person to be tripped up by clothing.

He once had her preform a job while wearing the smock of a Silent Sister.

Nothing that she would ever tell any of her current company. She led them to believe that she gained her fighting skills from survival means, not from proper instruction at the hands of her father's household and her brother's doting. Polished after traveling the country with one of the deadliest men in the western world.

To them, she was—and would remain—Nymeria. An expendable pawn on the political chessboard.

Not that many were forthcoming with the exact reasons for her presence, other than she was to divert attention away from Prince Gendry's intended bride. Whoever that was.

Not that Arya cared.

This was nothing more than a paycheck to her; the outcome of which wouldn't affect her life. Whoever sat on the throne wouldn't change the everyday. And, if it did, she could relocate to Braavos. She had plenty of contacts there.

Yes. Arya's mind was always working through possible exit strategies.

"Nan!" Margaery entered without bothering to knock, her beauty only enhanced in her display of displeasure. "I thought Wilias told you that such things must end on arrival."

"No." Dropping from the marble banister, fight forgotten until a later time, she released her hair from the ribbon she used to tie the impractical mass back. "He said that the wearing of pants and drinking with the men-at-arms had to end when we reached the palace. Nothing about practice."

"Ladies of breeding, even from the lower houses, do not practice sword play…and, even if they did, they definitely would not be at a level to best a knight."

"She was not besting me."

"Loras, she was making you look a novice. As usual." Hooking arms with Arya, Margaery turned them both away from where her brother was scowling and sulking. "Go find Sir Jaime, see if he has use for a practice dummy."

Looking back at the high born son, Arya was reluctant to walk away from the thrill of victory. "Where are we going?"

"Preparing for dinner." Margaery swung open the door to the wash. Steam swirling about them as heated space.

"That's hours from now."

"It will take hours to undo all the wilding that you just allowed into your mind. Remember, the sight of blood would be enough to make you faint."

"Wow…I spent a lot of my life fainting then. I mean, there was one night when a sales sword lost an arm to a minstrel who got a lucky swing in—"

"Enough."

"No fun. That story gained me free drinking rights from your household staff for whenever I find myself there."

"And that is exactly the kind of behavior I thought I had weeded out of you."

"Can't change nature, only learn to hide the flaws."

"Start hiding, and strip."

"Seems like a clash in orders."

"Nan." Margaery warn.

As a daughter of a high ranking family of power, she knew the political world and how to negotiate it. She was used to being able to manipulate those around her into bowing to her charming whim.

It made harassing her all the more enjoyable.

And probably why she left, rather than stand over Arya washing away the dirt of the road and sweat from her play with Loras. There would have been too many openings present for taunting.

Time with the Tyrell's had aided in more than refining her manner—when need be—and gaining her a new guise to add to her long repertoire, she also gained the illusion of softness that had long been denied her body. Nowhere close to Margaery's shapely stature, Arya now had more noticeable hips and breasts that aided in the persona she had to take on.

Sinking into the warm water that constantly flowed through the basin built into stone floor, Arya closed her eyes and opened her mind to all the information that—not only the Tyrell's had taught her—she had accumulated across the years in one way or another.

Her name was Nymeria Cuy from Sunflower Hall, located south of Oldtown's coast.

Their sigil was six yellow flowers on a field of blue.

Their words: Bloom in adversity.

Since Lord Branston Cuy's death, the family had been led by the reclusive Ronin. A man who little knew any about. Being sworn to the Tyrell's, he had presented himself to them after taking position in Sunflower Hall. Making it known that he had no intention to be more involved in matters of court than need be.

Reclusive.

And a perfect cover to plant her in the middle of.

As her story went, she was Ronin's sheltered sister who Margaery took a liking to, brought to Highgarden to be amongst the lone daughter's entourage, and had caught the heir's eye on his recent visit.

Though Gendry had a reputation for women that mirrored his father's, if not being willing to pay for someone to keep his bed warm, this would be the first time that he kept one so close and in such a flaunting manner.

They had to sell the idea of being in complete…Lust

Love would be tricky, not only to portray but for political reasons. If the people and high houses began to think that his judgment was compromised by such a frivolous notion, it could create friction and discord to his standing.

Lust was another matter. Enough that people would be more interested in her, a passing fad, than any possible bride-to-be. But not enough that they would curry favor from her, thinking that she would be a long standing paramour. Like Ellaria Sand had been for Oberyn of Dorne.

Mind calmer, more Nan than Arya, she climbed out of the water and wrapped her body in the silken robe that the servants had unpacked and left hanging on her side of the space. Sitting at the vanity, probably left vacant for years since the last woman—or lover—had inhabited her current rooms, she started to tackle the task of conquering the knots that had tangled through her hair.

The door opening on the opposite side admitted Gendry, dressed in the lowborn clothing he had been wearing when she arrived—now covered in soot and dirty streaked across the fabric and skin, to enter.

He paused on seeing her, clearly use to having to share a space, for long enough to take in the sight of her from crown to toe.

"I would be annoyed, but—I guess—you paid for the right." Standing, Arya did a slow turn for him to gain the full effect. "Any requests?"

Dark brows snapped together. Confused. "In what way?"

"I don't know…Add padding to my gowns. Add height to my shoes. Add or lessen the length of my hair."

Finally looking away, he started to remove his shirt. Showing the defined muscles that made his back and broad shoulders. "You're fine in your appearance. Just need to become accustomed to the sight of a woman here."

"From what I hear, women in your personal rooms was never an issue."

Shaking his head, black bangs hanging in his eyes, Gendry answered her sarcasm with blatant truth. "I never take them up here."

"Why not?"

"Because, like you said, it's my personal space. When an entire kingdom feels entitled to the last scrap of your life, you tend to cling to the few bubbles of privacy you can withhold. Which is why I would appreciate it if you don't go any further than this room during our time together."

"Don't worry, I wasn't considering turning this farce into the real thing."

"In that case, I should warn you that I'm tired and annoyed and not looking forward to going to tonight's dinner. My pants are coming off if you're in the room or not."

Rolling her eyes, Arya tightened the sash that had slipped enough to allow a deep V of pale skin show. Not that she had a significant amount chest for that to make an effect. "Don't hold back on my account. I've seen naked men before, doubt that your 'manhood' is much different that it would serve much of an impact." She made a point to drop her eyes below his waist. "Unless it's _really_ small." Despite her bravo, Arya said all this on her way to her rooms' door.

"And here I thought that the Tyrell's influence would manage to civilize you for more than merely show. Now that I think about it, that miracle might even be beyond Wilias' impressive abilities."

"Don't worry, when it counts, there will be no doubt in anyone's mind about my heritage and origins. As long as you pay, I will be a strict professional when in sight of most. Just don't expect me to lose myself in the process."

"I highly doubt that is possible. Something so big can't be easily misplaced."

She left before she became tempted to inform him just how wrong he was in that belief.

Not only at the current moment, her acting and being employed under false pretenses, but in time long gone but not close to being forgotten.

* * *

**[A/N: Not the best, I know. But had some time and wanted to give something.]**


End file.
